


Of Fame and Misery

by Alphin



Category: Castlevania, Castlevania (Cartoon), Castlevania (TV), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Adrian is an Actor/Model, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Bodyguard, Bodyguard AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, M/M, OT3, Other, You can tell I have no clue how to tag these things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphin/pseuds/Alphin
Summary: Trevor is a fighter in an underground ring. Adrian is an actor and model for his father's esteemed agency. It seems unlikely that their paths would ever cross, until Adrian starts receiving death threats with no idea who's sending them, or why.With his son's life at risk, Vlad Tepes hires him a bodyguard. Though they don't quite get along, Trevor and Adrian are stuck with each other now, and with the help of Adrian's co-star Sypha, they will find a way to keep him safe.
Relationships: Alucard/Sypha, Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Trevor/Alucard - Relationship, Trevor/Alucard/Sypha
Comments: 28
Kudos: 157





	1. Knockout

Chapter song: 

**Back Against the Wall - Cage The Elephant**

“HIT HIM IN THE NOSE!!! THE NOSE!!”

The crowd cheers ravenously, circled around Trevor and his opponent and eagerly watching as the two men beat the ever-loving shit out of each other in the middle of a dusty old basement. Who exactly the crowd is cheering for, he doesn't know and doesn't care. This fight isn't about pleasing the crowd, at least not to Trevor. No, it's about money. Like it always is. And with rent payments due soon, Trevor has no intention of losing.

Each powerful blow sends another painful jolt through his body, and he knows that by tomorrow he will be a bruised and aching mess. But right now that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is bringing down the ugly bastard in front of him. Gerard, he thinks his name is, if he goes off of what a good chunk of the crowd has been cheering. If he had to guess, Gerard must be in his mid thirties, balding, crooked jaw - no doubt from a long career of underground fighting - and is probably twice Trevor’s size. Gerard grins and swipes a meaty fist at him, and Trevor takes a step backwards on instinct. The fist harmlessly swings by only inches from his face, and he feels both immensely relieved and proud of himself for dodging a blow that would have surely left a nasty bruise.

“Ha! You missed.” Trevor goads, taking a moment to catch his breath. He’s panting heavily from the exertion of the match, and he's reached the point where he can no longer hide it. And although he's disappointed in himself for showing how worn out he's getting, Gerard doesn't look too much better, face reddened and body entirely drenched in sweat. This match has been going on for far too long. Gerard scowls and lunges forward, his other fist poised for another attack. Trevor is ready for it, but the punch doesn’t come. Instead, he kicks at Trevor's legs and sweeps them out from beneath him, and Trevor is falling, falling, falling onto the filthy concrete floor of what was affectionately dubbed The Brawl Hall. “Oh shi-!” He yells out as he goes down. 

If he wasn’t already covered in dust, he sure as hell is now. Every bit of dirt and grit that makes contact with him clings to his sweat soaked skin like he’s some kind of swiffer duster. But really, that's the least of his worries.

He manages to catch himself as he falls, preventing his head from smashing into the concrete floor. The last thing he needs today is a concussion. There’s no time to thank himself for his quick reflexes however, because that bloody fist is back and it’s connected with his left cheek. He does his best to scramble backwards on the floor, away from the brute, but he can only go so far before he feels the boots of spectators nudging him to get back in there and fight, or at the very least, take it like a man. 

His opponent saunters towards him with a smug look. He knows he has the upper hand now. He knows he’s going to win. Trevor can feel the adrenaline - and alcohol- pumping through his veins. He can hear it in his ears. It’s deafening and desperate, and begging him to do something, anything, to just keep going, keep on fighting, even though his body is screaming at him to give in and yield.

But Trevor Belmont doesn’t give up so easily.

As the man bends down to grab him, Trevor doesn’t try to duck out of the way. Instead, he reaches up to meet him, grabs him by the shoulders, and pulls him down and forward as he uses one of his legs to kick at his stomach, pushing his back-end up in the air. The man, rightfully surprised, flips over Trevor and onto his back. The crowd has to jump out of the way to avoid getting caught in the crosshairs. 

Gerard lays on the ground groaning, and Trevor uses that moment to climb on top of him and knock him out with a quick fist to the chin. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then the crowd is cheering. Most of them, anyway. Some bystanders boo him and yell that he got lucky. Trevor flips them off and spits in their direction. Luck or not, he doesn’t care. He’s won. And that means he gets to collect his prize. 

And _that_ means he can go upstairs to the bar and get himself a nice drink before he fully sobers up. 

God forbid _that_ happen.  
  


\----------

By the time Trevor is all cleaned up and paid, two other fights have started and finished, and most people seem to have either cleared out and headed home, or gone upstairs to grab a drink like Trevor planned to do. 

Everything hurts, just as he knew it would. Just like it always did after a match. It somehow feels good, in a way that Trevor can’t quite put into words, but it’s still a bitch to deal with, and Trevor knows that it will be no better tomorrow. But that's how life goes when you make a living with your fists, he thinks absentmindedly. He’d do something else if he knew how to, but with no high school diploma, and no so-called ‘dreams and aspirations’ beyond getting his next meal and drink, there’s no reason to go to the trouble of changing what was already clearly working for him. After all, he’s still alive, still has a roof over his head, and in the end, that’s all a person needs, right? Somewhere to sleep, something to eat, and occasionally, someone to fuck. That’s what he tells himself. That’s all he needs, he thinks, and the aching emptiness that creeps up on him sometimes, threatening to suck him in and swallow him whole… well. That’s what drinking is for. 

He climbs the creaky stairs and gives a quick nod to the bouncer that guards the entrance of the Brawl Hall. The upstairs area is much nicer than the dusty makeshift arena hiding beneath, and even the old storage room where the hidden entrance is, is much cleaner at the least. The rest of the place is just your run of the mill bar, with all the expected amenities that a bar might have, including an old jukebox that sits in the corner and never works and a neon sign above the bar that says ‘Harold’s Pub’. 

The smell of old varnish and whiskey is warm and welcoming by now, and if he’s being honest, this shitty little bar is the closest thing Trevor has had to a home in years. Landlords kick you out, apartments come and go, but Harold’s Pub never changes. It’s still the same shithole he walked into years ago, searching for work. Still filled with the familiar faces of lonely broken people that come here night after night, hoping to drown their sorrows in the bottom of a pint. Trevor can’t help but feel sorry for them, but sometimes he wonders if he’s any different. Maybe being an old man, drunkenly passed out and alone in the corner of a shady bar was what the future had in store for him. The thought always unsettles him more than he’d like to admit, and yet he feels almost resigned to it. It’s not that he never had dreams or ambitions for himself. He had plenty of them when he was younger. But that was a different time, and a different Trevor. One who was young and naive and not yet broken, one who didn’t know the meaning of loss and how it can haunt you endlessly, even in your dreams.

He slides onto one of the barstools and raises a hand to get the bartender's attention. Clearly, he’s sobered up a bit too much.

The bartender is an old man with a kind face and greying dreadlocks named Carlson. He’s familiar with Trevor, and doesn’t bother asking what he wants - just pours him a pint and slides it over without a word. Good man, not very talkative, but Trevor likes him. Too many people these days like to stick their noses where it doesn’t belong, like they’re entitled to know your personal history simply because they’re bored. 

He takes a sip of his beer and peers around the room. It's not too busy, and he can recognize a few familiar faces. Like the tough looking woman he knows as another fighter, sitting on the other end of the bar. He doesn’t know her name, but he sure as hell remembers her face (it was the last thing he saw before she knocked him out in their match last week). Trevor makes a point of not spending too much time looking in her direction. Asides from her, there’s a pair of old men huddled in a booth over their whiskey, whispering amongst themselves, a shifty man sitting in the back corner, and a few of other fighters celebrating their victories or drinking their losses.They’re all regulars. But there are a few unfamiliar faces too. A young couple flirting in a booth, and a beautiful woman with platinum blonde hair and sanguine lips that smile as she meets Trevor's gaze. He freezes momentarily, but quickly gets his bearings and gives her an awkward smile in return, throwing in a little wave for good measure. Compared to the rough-and-tumble appearance of the usual patrons this place attracted - Trevor included - she looked like she belonged in a museum, as if she was a marbled statue of a Goddess that a man might pray to. 

Maybe if Trevor played his cards right, he could pray to her too.

He’s considering whether or not he should send a drink to her table when she gets up, heels clicking on the old wood panelled floor, and comes to settle on the barstool beside him. He flashes her a smile, which he hopes passes as charming.

"Can’t say I’ve seen your face around here before." he begins, "Though I must admit, I'd like to see a lot more of it."

She scoffs, and he can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up on him. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, and she watches him like a hawk - no, a tiger, analyzing its prey. And then suddenly she’s all smiles.

"Listen, Trevor - it’s Trevor, right?” She asks, and he wonders how she knows. He could swear that he’s never seen this woman before in his life. He opens his mouth to respond, but she waves a hand at him before he can get a word out. “It doesn’t matter. Now listen to me…” her eyes narrow and her smile disappears, “I'm not here to listen to your pathetic pick up lines." she states, “nor am I here to flirt and make pleasantries.”

"I... see." Trevor responds, for lack of anything better to say. There’s a moment of silence, and he doesn’t know whether or not he’s supposed to say something. He can feel her eyes boring into him, sharp and glinting like ice against the warm light from the neon sign. He supposes that he is meant to say something after all, and sighs, too tired and worn to play into whatever game she’s after. "Well, if you’re not here for a hookup, what do you want from me?”

"To get to the point, I saw your fight.” 

Ah. That explains how she got his name.

"And?” He prompts, “What did you think? You don’t strike me as the type who likes that sort of thing." 

"Oh, please. You think I’d debase myself by stepping foot in this establishment without due reason?" she scoffs as if affronted by the very idea of it, but seems to settle down, relaxing her shoulders and replacing her slightly annoyed expression with a more neutral one as she idly picks lint from her dress and then smooths it out. "I’m here on behalf of my employer, Mr. Vlad Tepes. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

“Can’t say that I have." Something about the name sounds familiar, but there’s no way for him to be sure he isn’t just imagining it.

She looks at him, incredulous. "Well, I can assure you, he’s a _very_ powerful man."

The way she says it has images running through Trevor's mind of men wearing suits with guns blazing, gambling houses filled with the heavy smoke of cigars, and a man smiling as he cracks his knuckles. A very powerful man could be many things, but a beautiful woman approaching him in a bar like this to talk about her employer... well. To say the least, something seems off. Trevor is placing his bets on him being some mafia boss or something. And that’s a mess he does not want to get mixed in with.

"That’s great and all, but I still don’t see what that has to do with me." He says gruffly, eyes narrowed.

"I’m getting to that. You see, Mr. Tepes has a son, Adrian. Recently he’s been receiving death threats. We have no idea who's sending them, or why, and as you can imagine, Mr. Tepes is beside himself with worry. He’s given me the task of finding and recruiting a capable bodyguard for the boy."

"So… you want me to be that bodyguard, I'm guessing?"

"Yes. I’ve seen you fight, and I can say with confidence that you’ve impressed me. You’re quick on your feet, and your reflexes are fast. You’re obviously strong. Judging from what I’ve seen… I believe you just might be the man we’re looking for."

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The praise was unexpected, but it sure as hell felt good. It wasn’t often someone pointed out his skills like that, even though it’s really no secret -at least in Trevor’s eyes. Guarding some kid didn’t sound too hard. The death threats were probably just bluffs anyway, something to put his old man up in arms, or put pressure on him to do God knows what. Still, this whole ordeal was a little odd, even for Trevor’s liking.

"Hang on," he says, slowly, "don’t people normally collect resumes for this kind of thing? Put out flyers or whatnot?"

She waves a hand as if she can just shoo away his worries. "A piece of paper won’t divulge whether or not a person is a capable fighter. I’ve spoken to Mr. Tepes, and he agreed with me that this would be the best way to access our options. Are you interested in the job or not?"

Trevor took a sip of his beer as he mulled over the proposition. Sure, it was strange. Some mysterious beauty shows up out of nowhere and offers him a job? Trevor almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. Maybe it’s not that funny, maybe it’s just the beer, but either way, he stifles a chuckle. 

“Is something funny?” She says, wryly. 

"No, not at all.” He assures her, clearing his throat and gathering himself. A deep breath, and he’s back to business. “How much will I be paid if I take you up on your offer?"

"Payment will be discussed between Mr. Tepes and yourself. But I assure you… You will be paid very, _very_ well."

He likes the sound of that. Really likes it. A steady job that pays well and doesn't involve getting the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis (hopefully), and all he has to do is guard some kid.

"I’m interested."

"Good." she says, obviously pleased with his response. She pulls out a slip of paper and a pen from her purse, and scribbles something down in elegant writing as Trevor tries to peek over her hand to read it. She finishes and passes it over to him. He takes it, and notices her long, red painted fingernails as he withdraws his hand. Something about them sends shivers down his spine; and not the good kind. Eager to look at anything but her hands now, he examines the paper. It's an address. "Be there at noon sharp. Don’t be late. And please," she pauses, her face scrunching up in disgust, "wear something clean, or at the very least, presentable"

He looks down at his shirt and notices just how dirty it is. Dried sweat, dust, and a bit of blood (whether his or his opponent’s, he doesn't know). “Uh… right. Presentable.”

She seems satisfied with that and gets up from her seat. “Good. It’s been nice meeting you, Trevor. I hope to see you soon.” She turns to leave.

"Wait." he calls out before she can walk away. She halts and turns back to give him a pointed, questioning stare, "What's your name? Seems a little unfair that you know mine and I have no idea who you are."

"Carmilla. I’m a personal assistant to Mr. Tepes.”

And with that, she leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a LONG time since I've written a fic. Its nice to get back into it.
> 
> Im using a partially broken keyboard, so if you notice that theres punctuation missing (in the story, not the notes. Im not going to bother fussing over this part), please let me know. I combed over it a few times to make sure I fixed that, but its an arduous process and I might have missed something.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy it.


	2. Adrian

Chapter Song:

**Losing Streak - Eels**

It's early. Too early. And yet Trevor is awake by some miracle, dressed in the nicest clothes he owns; a white long sleeve shirt, his one pair of jeans, and an old worn bomber jacket he fished out of a thrift shop bin two summers ago. He gets the feeling that it won’t be up to Carmilla’s standards - if how she was dressed to a shitty bar fight is anything to go off of.

Honestly, it all feels like something he dreamed up in a drunken stupor, like something out of a fairytale where a beautiful fairy Godmother appears out of nowhere and sweeps him up out of his miserable life, offering him a chance for something better. Something more than a bug-infested apartment with barely any room to move, and eating cold spaghetti straight from a can because the fucking stove doesnt work, just like everything else in his life. Its a stupid analogy, but some fairy Godmother magic would do him good.

The building in front of him is tall and fancy, the kind of building he’s walked by a thousand times but never stepped foot into. It looms before him ominously, stern and immaculate like a tombstone with reflective glass windows, waiting for him to enter and meet this Mr. Tepes guy. Trevor briefly muses whether or not he could call him Mr. T, like that guy from TV, but quickly discards that idea. Maybe if this works out and he gets to know the guy a little better. Maybe.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s nervous about the whole thing. More nervous than he's felt in a long time. It was like asking his highschool sweetheart out for the first time all over again. Hands clammy, mind and heart racing, and thinking of all the ways that it could go wrong. Hopefully it wouldn’t go as badly. People walking by are starting to stare; he’s been standing there for a while now, just staring and trying to gain the courage to walk through the elegant rotating doors. The same doors that are turning as a familiar figure comes through from the other side.

Carmilla is dressed like she's a model instead of an assistant. She stops in front of him and crosses her arms. “Just so you're aware, this building has cameras and you’re lucky it's me coming out here to get you instead of security.” she huffs, and continues, her voice incredulous, “Just how long have you been standing out here, twiddling your thumbs?”

If he had to place a guess, it's been about ten minutes. But he’s not telling her that. Not a chance. Instead, he shrugs. “Hello to you too. Oh I’m doing great, thanks for asking. How about you?”

She sighs, clearly not in the mood. “Get inside. Mr. Tepes is waiting.”

She turns around and Trevor follows her towards the doors. “What do you mean he’s waiting? I’m…” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes early.”

She halts and whips around to face him again. “Mr. Belmont, this is L.A., not some sweaty basement fightclub. Fifteen minutes early is considered barely on time, and on time is late. In the future, try to be here a half hour before your appointment. Do you understand?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” he says, wryly.

“Good.”

He expects her to turn around and lead the way again, but it's at that moment that she finally takes notice of what he’s wearing and looks him over, pale hair practically glowing in the midday sun as her mouth curves down in disapproval. Trevor can’t help but feel self conscious, and decides that examining the well-groomed bushes planted neatly by the entrance is suddenly very important.

“Is that really,” she points to his shirt, or maybe all of him, “Your idea of being presentable?” she asks. “This is a job interview, not a Steak n’ Shake.” he’s surprised she even knows what that is. She doesn’t really seem like the type to eat at one of those places. Then again, she doesn’t look like the type to hire bodyguards straight out of a fighting ring, and yet here he is. She’s a tough one to read.

“How about I make you a promise?” he says more than asks, “When I get my first paycheck, I’ll wear whatever the hell it is you want me to wear. Until then, Yeah, this is the best I’ve got. Is that a problem?”

She actually manages to crack a smile. “Not a problem at all.”

He lets out a relieved sigh, and finally follows her inside.

When they enter the building, they’re immediately greeted by security. Upon seeing Carmilla, they sweep themselves aside to let them pass, and the lady sitting at what must be a security monitor gives Trevor a suspicious look that he ignores.

The whole place is extravagant. Marbled floors, and walls lined with framed portraits of famous actors. Trevor recognizes a few of them and notices that each one is signed.

“Whats up with those?” he asks.

“Clients of Mr. Tepes. He owns and runs Tepes Talent. This is our main office building.”

This Tepes guy was sounding less and less like mafia and more and more like some snobby rich guy. That's perfectly fine with Trevor. The less involved with crime lords he is, the better.

They walk to the elevator in silence, and Carmilla presses the button for the eleventh floor. As they go up, Trevor looks at the mirrored walls boxing them in, watches the floor counter change as they go up, and avoids looking directly at her.

“So, uh… What’s Adrian like?” he asks, both to end the maddening silence and also out of genuine curiosity.

“Hm. He’s… How should I put this?” she purses her lips as she contemplates. “He’s talented, but a little spoiled if you ask me. Its no surprise, really. The boys been living in luxury since day one.”

The elevator stops and the doors open up to a lavish hallway decorated with beautiful landscape paintings and potted plants. He steps out and can’t help but marvel at just how… How clean the whole place is. Clearly he’s been living in scalour for far too long.

“Do you really think someone is plotting to kill him?”

She snorts, “No. No I don’t. But his Daddy is the overprotective type. So what I think about the situation means very little.” she sighs. “But you never know. There are crazy people out there.”

“Can’t argue that.”

They stop in front of a thick oak door. Carmilla knocks.

“Come in.” says a deep voice.

She opens the door and steps inside, urging Trevor to follow. Like the hallway, the room is impeccably tidy and well decorated. There’s a few bookshelves and movie posters lining the wall, and hanging elegantly behind the enormous desk that takes up the centre of the room, is a beautiful oil painting of a family - a couple holding a young child. The scene is peaceful, serene, and Trevor can’t help but notice that the man in the painting is the same as the man sitting at the desk. However, unlike in the painting, he seems to be brooding over some paperwork. Carmilla clears her throat, and he looks up at Carmilla, and then Trevor. Something about the way he looked at him gave Trevor the feeling that he was being appraised.

“I’ve brought Mr. Belmont here to speak with you.” she announces. The man, Mr. Tepes, stands up to greet them, and Trevor is taken aback by how… imposing he is. And, oddly enough, familiar.

“Good.” he says, and Trevor freezes where he stands. He knows that voice, and knows why he looks familiar. He’s seen him before, in theatres and on billboards. “Please, take a seat Mr. Belmont.”

“I- uh, yes. A seat.” he says, stupidly, eyes wandering over to the name plaque on the desk. Vlad D. Tepes. As in the Vlad Tepes, an accomplished actor whose career shot off when he landed the leading role of Dracula in Love Bites, a famous romantic tragedy that came out over ten years ago. Or maybe it was considered more of a horror than a romance, Trevor wasn’t sure. It’s been a while since he’s seen it and all he can really recall are the fight scenes. Masterful choreography, really.

“Let’s get started.” He says, and they both take their seats. He looks at Trevor with those intimidating dark eyes of his, and then looks past him. “Carmilla, I need you to print out the forms for Mr. Belmont. I’ll need an NDA form as well - Adrian’s form, not the standard one. Thank you.”

“Right away.” she says turning to leave.

“Oh, and if you could bring us some tea.” He adds.

“Of course.”

Camilla leaves and Mr. Tepes turns his full attention to Trevor. If Trevor were a lesser man, he’d surely find his dark gaze intimidating. “Now then… I know you were told this is an interview, but I’ve already made up my mind. Carmilla has vouched for you, and I trust her judgement.”

He really doesn’t know what to say to that, but that's ok because his new employer doesn’t give him much time to respond.

“I’m sure Carmilla has filled you in on the situation.”

“Yes. Your son-”

“Is in danger.” he finishes for him. Silence hangs heavily in the air between them, and Mr. Tepes suddenly seems tired, weary beyond his years. He sighs. “I’m putting my faith in you, a complete stranger, to protect him. To keep him out of harm’s way. Carmilla has never lead me wrong, and despite my wariness, I feel I have no choice but to trust you. Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Mr. Belmont. I will not lose my son. I’ve lost too many people over the years. No more.”

“I won’t let anything happen to him. I swear it.” Trevor assures him.

“Good. Now, lets review some of the terms of your employment, shall we?”

\----------

By the time Carmilla returns with tea and forms, they’ve covered a great deal of the conditions. They seem fair and reasonable for the most part, but Trevor’s head is starting to spin the more he realizes just how much of his life he’s going to have to change for this job. No more fighting is a welcome change, but moving out of his dingy apartment is a bit overwhelming. Its not the leaving that bothers him, it's the thought of going somewhere new. He’s hopped from shitty apartment to shitty apartment over the years, and has always avoided having a roommate if it wasn't absolutely necessary. This new arrangement would have him living in a guest room, just a few doors down from Adrian. As someone who values his space and privacy, its not ideal. But for the amount of money Mr. Tepes has proposed paying him… Well. He can manage.

“I’ll just need you to fill these out and sign them, and then I’ll send Isaac with you to help with the moving preparations.”

“My lease isn’t up-” 

“Isaac will handle it.” Mr. Tepes cuts in, voice filled with certainty. 

He shuts his mouth and doesn’t bother asking who the Hell Isaac is.

There’s a knock at the door, and Mr. Tepes calls out for whoever it is to come in. A familiar figure steps into the room, golden haired and wearing a floral-printed turtleneck, spotless white pants, and a pair of sunglasses which rest neatly on top of his long hair like a crown. It’s the same man Trevor has seen in TV ads for men’s cologne and slim-fit designer jeans. It occurs to him that he might run into a lot of celebrities in this new line of work. It’s not something he particularly cares about, really, but it’s an interesting perk.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything.” he apologizes. 

Mr. Tepes shakes his head. “Not at all. Couldn’t have better timing. Adrian, I’d like you to meet Trevor Belmont - Your new bodyguard.”

So this is Adrian. From how Carmilla spoke of him, Trevor was expecting a child, not a grown man. It’s… surprising. But at least he doesn’t have to watch his language or guard him in a McDonald’s ballpit.

Adrian looks at him, and Trevor almost feels offended by his immediate look of distaste. 

“I don’t recall asking for a bodyguard.” he says, clearly unhappy with the situation.

“Well, you have one.” Mr. Tepes says, firmly. 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

Adrian sighs, and for a moment no one dares to speak. He pinches the bridge of his nose, as if suppressing a strong and sudden migraine, and says, “I get a few vulgar fanletters and you decide having some goon follow me around is the solution?”

“Oy, I’m not ‘some goon’.” Trevor interrupts, unable to help himself, and Adrian’s furious gaze is on him now.

“Then what are you?” he demands. Trevor doesn’t answer, no one does. “A nuisance is what you are. Nothing more.”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Tepes stands up, exuding authority. “I have hired this man to protect you, whether you like it or not. I’ve asked Hector to prepare his room as we speak. I understand you’re upset, but please,” and suddenly, he’s pleading and his gaze is full of sorrow and loss, “Let me do what I can to keep you safe.”

Adrian looks like he wants to argue, but then his gaze softens and his shoulders hang limp and defeated. “Very well. For your sake, I’ll allow this. For now.” He relents. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things I’d like to do before my privacy is stripped away from me even more than it already is.” he nods politely at his father, casts one last glare at Trevor, and then storms off.

“Well that was a fucking disaster.” Carmilla states once he’s gone.

“You can say that again.” Trevor agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @ all the people who commented !  
> Y'all keep me motivated
> 
> I got a little carried away while working on this chapter, came up with an idea for another AU, and well... I almost have a full chapter of that written as well. I'm not going to be posting it anytime soon, since I'm focusing on this fic first, but I'll definitely have other AUs in the works at some point. I have a small problem. Fight me.
> 
> Also, I'll be posting updates on my fics on my tumblr now (mostly news about how close I am to completing a chapter and that sort of thing)  
> https://ethereal-mists.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'm going to try choosing a song for each chapter, because hey, music is fun. I'm picking based off of a few things. Such as; Fitting vibe, fitting lyrics (maybe even just a specific part of the lyrics), or... I'm just feelin' it. I'm open to song suggestions, but there's no guarantee that it'll end up fitting with any of the chapters. Maybe you can even share what songs you think go best in the comments! Its always fun to hear what other people think. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading


	3. The Monster

Chapter Song:

**Someday - Sugar Ray**

The next few days pass in a blur. On the first day he got to meet Isaac; a stoic and capable man who helped him with the whole moving process. Since then he’s been whisked away multiple times by Carmilla to pick up some ‘presentable’ clothing (which, if Trevor’s being honest, is likely going to go unworn for the most part), because God forbid he dress poorly around His Highness, Adrian. Speaking of Adrian, he hasn’t seen the brat at all since their first meeting two days ago.

By the time he’s done with his last shopping trip, his belongings have arrived at his new place, and so has he. It’s not much, and he manages to bring up the boxes in just one trip with Isaac’s help. He's more than thankful that Carmilla sent the clothing she picked out to the apartment ahead of time, otherwise, he definitely would have had to make another trip.

The apartment complex is huge and beautiful. Palm trees line the boulevard outside, and it feels more like a resort than a home to him. Isaac gives him a small tour on the way up to the penthouse, and points out that there’s a gym and some other facilities open to residents. 

“Take your time to look around and get used to the place.” Isaac says as he unlocks the apartment and hands Trevor the key. 

“Thanks.” he says.

“Don’t mention it.”

Trevor follows him inside and is amazed by just how big it is. He knew it’d be bigger than his place, but this is just… excessive. There’s a miniature fountain in the middle of the entranceway, and marbled tiles gleaming on the floor. Beyond that is an immaculate white carpet leading into what he assumes is some kind of living room, and on the left is one of those ‘open-concept’ kitchens people are making such a big deal about these days. Those are the only rooms he can see from where he stands, and Trevor briefly wonders what the rest of the place looks like. 

Besides the trickle of water from the fountain, it’s almost eerily silent. No sign of Adrian from what he can tell.

“Say,” he says, his tone casual, “where is our little supermodel?”

Isaac gives him an unamused glance. “I believe he’s taking promotional pictures for his upcoming movie.”

“Uh huh… Promotional pictures. Right.” Trevor steps more into the room, until Isaac clears his throat loudly and gestures pointedly at Trevor’s sneakers.

“Your shoes, Mr. Belmont. This is a home, not a barn.”

Trevor gives him a sheepish grin, and carefully removes his shoes, placing them neatly on the shoe-rack with exaggerated grace. Isaac gives a quick hum of approval, but doesn’t remove his own shoes, and doesn’t stray from the door. “You’ll find your room on the second floor, closest to the stairs. I’ll leave you to unpack.”

He hadn’t expected to be left alone in the unfamiliar apartment. At least not so soon. “That’s not going to take very long. What am I supposed to do after that? Wait around here?”

“Yes. Like I said, Mr. Belmont. Take your time to get used to the place. Look around. Find any entry points and make sure they’re secure, or whatever it is you bodyguards are meant to do. Spend your time how you will. I’ll be going now.”

“Hang on,” Trevor stops him, “how do I contact you if I need something?”

“You don’t. If you have a problem, you will direct it to Carmilla. She handles all of Mr. Tepes’ affairs.”

“I’m his affair, am I?” Trevor jokes.

“Goodbye Mr. Belmont.”

Apparently Isaac doesn’t like jokes. Or maybe he just doesn’t like Trevor. Either way, he’s gone, and Trevor is sad to see him go. The apartment is huge, and there’s much to explore and get used to, but being stuck here alone for the next few hours doesn’t seem too appealing to him.

With a heavy sigh, he ventures further inside.

It doesn’t take long to find his room - which is a lot plainer than he expected it to be- and unpack his belongings. He’s never cared much for material possessions, but there are a few things near and dear to his heart. One being an old and smelly stuffed monster that’s almost as old as Trevor. It was a gift from his sister and a reminder of one of his fondest memories with her.

_“Why are you crying?” she had asked him._

_Trevor, puffy-eyed and red from crying, clung to his elder sister’s nightgown as if that alone could shield him from the fears that had chased him from a good night’s rest. It was well past midnight, and instead of waking his parents he had come to her for solace. “I… I heard a noise under the bed!” he wailed. “Its the monster!”_

_Unlike most children his age, Trevor went to bed hearing stories that would make any child cry in terror. His father believed it would ‘toughen him up’, but all it did was make him more scared. When he went to his mother for reassurance she had suggested giving him a knife to keep in his bedside drawer. Whether it was a joke or not, he didn’t know. Needless to say, he didn’t go to his parents for help much._

_He felt cool fingers slip through his hair comfortingly. “You know…” she spoke slowly, as if considering each word carefully, “There was once a monster under my bed too.”_

_Trevor’s eyes widened. “Were you scared?”_

_“I was at first. But then one day I heard it crying. And so I peeked over the edge of my bed and asked it why it was sad. It was scary looking, with sharp teeth and giant claws on all six of its arms, and I thought maybe it was a trap, but…”_

_Trevor had stopped crying. He was clinging onto her every word, amazed by her bravery. “But?!” he urged._

_“But it wasn’t a trick. The monster told me it was sad because all it wanted was a friend. But everyone was scared of it because of its claws and teeth, and so they made up stories about it to scare people away.”_

_“Like the stories dad tells us?”_

_“Exactly like those.”_

_Trevor considered that. “So… the monster just wanted a friend?”_

_She nodded and Trevor’s fear disappeared. “Never judge someone by their appearance, Trevor. Someone who looks mean and scary could really just be lonely and sad. Look beyond what others see, and you might find a friend.”_

_Trevor was never afraid of monsters again. A few weeks after their talk, his sister had given him a plush monster like the one from her story. It was poorly made and lopsided, but Trevor loved it all the same._

He pictures her smiling face, but it slowly begins to melt. The smell of gasoline hits him. Pleading sobs…

_Hannah..._

Trevor snaps out of it, hyperventilating and covered in sweat. He looks at the stuffed monster in his hands as his breathing begins to slow, and he feels the pit in his stomach grow deeper and deeper.

He hears her voice, a whisper in his mind, _‘Trevor…’_

That’s enough reminiscing for one day, and enough unpacking. He places the monster carefully on his windowsill and decides to find out if this place has any alcohol.

After scouring the pantry and checking the kitchen, he finally finds something. Its wine; not Trevor’s favourite, but it’ll do in a pinch. He finds a glass and drinks as he explores the kitchen for something to eat. There are all kinds of health food, protein supplements, and stuff Trevor doesn’t even recognize. It takes him a while, but he finally finds something he can work with: Good ol’ cheese slices and bread.

With dinner within his grasp, he turns to the stove and is thrilled to discover that it doesn’t just work; _it works well_.

“No more cold soup,” he mutters to himself as he makes himself a few grilled cheese sandwiches.

Cooking done, he eats while lounging on a couch that’s so clean it looks like its never been used and stares out the giant glass windows that line the back wall of the living room, taking in the beautiful skyline and the blissful feeling that comes from having a belly full of cheese. If this isn’t absolute decadence, Trevor doesn’t know what is. 

By the time he’s on his third sandwich his eyes have wandered over to the coffee table and the various magazines splayed out over it. That’s one thing that doesn’t quite fit in with the minimalist style of the place; there are magazines, newspapers, books, and tabloids on just about every surface, and some of them even hang on the wall in frames. 

He chews thoughtfully and eyes one of them. Adrian is on the cover wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap like he’s a Marvel character trying to remain inconspicuous. A lot of good that did him, clearly. Curious, he abandons his sandwich in favour of snooping through the magazine.

Overall, it isn’t very interesting. Just goes on about his role as Alucard, Son of Dracula in the upcoming sequel to Love Bites. There’s a few glossy pages with pictures of Adrian posing with some of his co-stars. There’s a blonde girl with an arm wrapped over his shoulders, pulling him down to her height, and although he’s not in the picture, it mentions that Mr. Tepes will be revisiting his role as Dracula. He tosses the magazine back onto the table, interest lost. He never really cared about celebrities.

A few hours pass by the time Trevor hears the front door unlock. He doesn’t turn his head away from the TV and the trashy show he’s watching, but he can hear approaching footsteps.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Adrian observes, eyeing the half-eaten grilled cheese still left on Trevor’s plate.

“Hello to you too.” Trevor says, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone. There’s an awkward silence. Neither of them knows what to say, and Trevor knows damn well that he’s not wanted here. He picks up his remaining sandwich and hopes he’ll leave him alone if he’s eating. His hopes are dashed within seconds.

“We have a well-stocked fridge and a pantry full of healthy food, and you choose to eat that?” Adrian asks, his tone incredulous.

“What’s wrong with grilled cheese?” he says defensively. He shouldn't feel offended by his comment -he _really_ shouldn't- but something about Adrian just rubs him the wrong way.

“Do you have any idea how little nutritional value is in that?”

“Not really, no”

“It isn’t much.”

“I think I’ll live.” Trevor takes a bite.

Silence.

Adrian sighs. “Did you at least clean up the kitchen?”

Trevor thinks of the frying pan he left in the sink. “Not yet.”

“Well don’t forget.”

Trevor can feel his irritation rising. He doesn’t need to be nagged by some bigshot Hollywood star to do the dishes. At this point, it feels like he’s only doing it to get on his nerves. “I don’t need advice from a guy that probably doesn’t even cook his own meals. Do you even know how to cook?”

“Yes, actually. I cook all of my own meals. Can _you_ cook?”

Trevor tries to picture Adrian cooking, but he just can't. Not with him standing there with his stupid perfect hair and designer jeans. He’s surprised, to say the least. “I cook well enough.” he asserts.

“Oh yes. I can see that.” Adrian stares pointedly at the soggy grilled cheese.

“Alright, can you lay off my sandwich already? Jeez.” he grumbles unhappily, wanting this conversation to just be over already.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” 

Another awkward silence falls. Trevor can just tell how much fun he’s going to have living here.

“By the way, I need you to be up early tomorrow.” Adrian mentions as he heads off towards the stairs, clearly as done with the conversation as Trevor is.

“How early is early” Trevor eyes him warily.

“Six.”

Trevor feels faint. “Six?! What the fuck are we doing up at six?”

Adrian flashes him a look like its obvious. “Having breakfast, of course. Oh, and wear something suitable for jogging.”

Trevor hasn’t been awake at six since… God only knows when. Perhaps never.

His expression must have been easy to read, because Adrian scowls. “You’re not going to complain about having to wake up early, are you?”

“Didn’t plan on it.” 

“Good.” he yawns. It’s not even late and he’s yawning. “I’ll see you in the morning, Belmont.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you.” he replies bitterly.

He’s not looking forward to tomorrow. Not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of finding a beta reader or something. I’m the type of person that can’t tell if what I’m writing makes sense or not so idk. Might help  
> If someone’s interested, let me know!


	4. Early Bird

Chapter song:  
 **Inexplicable - The Correspondents**

Over the past five years Trevor has never needed to wake up early. The Brawl Hall is mostly active from evening until the early hours of the morning, and so he had gotten into the habit of going to bed after work and waking up whenever he felt like it.

It was a perk, really. He hated mornings even when he was a child, and loved the alertness that came with the cool night air. Thinking back, it’s probably because of his parents. They had a habit of frightening him with all kinds of horrible stories, and as a result he often stayed up for as long as he could, flashlight in hand and ready to chase away the shadows that he knew would haunt his dreams.

He spits toothpaste into the sink and stares at his reflection, blurry-eyed from tiredness and tight lines of resentment forming along his mouth at the thought of his parents. It’s too early for this. He doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want to think. All he wants is to curl back up in his new bed - that’s just a bit too soft for his liking - and go back to sleep. And yet his eyes fix onto the scar over his left eye and his resentment only grows.

“Look at you,” he mutters to his reflection, “Eight years and you still can’t let it go.”

He stares at himself for a few seconds longer as if his reflection might speak up for itself and provide some explanation. “Ugh… What am I doing?” he splashes some cold water on his face to try and clear his head, and briefly wonders if he can get away with drinking some of Adrian’s fancy wine this early in the morning.

Probably not. Wine’s gross anyway.

He picks out a plain t-shirt and an old pair of shorts for the jog, and decides to grab his burgundy hoodie just in case the morning air is chilly. As he dresses, he tells himself to buy some beer for his room when he gets the chance. He’s going to need it.

By the time he’s ready and out of his room, the whole apartment smells like eggs. The delicious scent lures him into the kitchen, where he finds Adrian. The starlet has his pale blond hair up in a sleek ponytail and is wearing an expensive looking black jogging outfit underneath a cooking apron.

He’s busy making breakfast and ignores Trevor as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. Not too sure what to do in this situation, he quietly watches him cook. Adrian hums to himself and Trevor can’t help but feel bitter that he looks wide awake despite the early hour. He hopes dearly that this morning jog thing isn’t a regular part of his routine.

Unable to stand the silence anymore, he rests his head in his palm and plainly says, “You look ridiculous.”

Without looking up from the omelette he’s making, Adrian responds tartly, “You’re one to talk.”

Trevor scowls but says nothing more. Instead he goes back to ignoring Adrian and focuses on the little flower vase in the middle of the table. It’s quaint and colourful, and the bright petals make the sterile, too clean kitchen feel just a little warmer. More like a home, he thinks.

Adrian cooks in silence while Trevor broods, and when it's done Adrian pours himself a glass of orange juice and joins him at the table, taking the furthest seat possible. As he begins eating, Trevor becomes all too aware of the empty space on the table in front of him. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, and looks at Adrian with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to share any of that?”

Without looking up from his food Adrian responds, “You said you can cook. I figured you’d take care of yourself.”

“Asshole,” Trevor mutters, quietly enough that he thinks he won’t hear. But unfortunately for him it seems that Adrian has very good ears.

“Troglodyte,” he shoots back coldly.

They glare at each other from across the table, and Adrian violently spears a morsel of egg with the business end of his fork. Trevor’s stomach growls, and he abruptly stands up and goes to dig around in the kitchen. Again, there’s all this health food that he’s not used to, and the thought of even trying to cook in his tired state makes his mood darken. He returns to his seat with a banana and sets to peeling it with clipped, irritated motions.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Adrian asks, his voice silky and cold.

“Problem?”

“You’re going to be hungry later.”

“Why do you care?” he snaps back.

Adrian’s pale eyes flicker but he shuts up and digs back into his breakfast as Trevor mutters, “Yeah. Thought so.”

“Care to explain why we’re getting in a car to go jogging?” Trevor asks, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. They’re standing outside the main entrance of the apartment complex, waiting for Adrian’s driver to pick them up. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? Could just run up the street or-”

“If you’d shut up, I could tell you,” Adrian interrupts. Trevor casts him an annoyed side-glance but keeps quiet. After a brief moment that grates on his patience, Adrian resumes talking. “I prefer getting some fresh air.” The air smelled just fine to Trevor. “There’s a lovely trail at Elysian Park. It’s well worth the drive. You’ll see.”

Trevor scoffs and they fall into silence.

Thankfully, their wait isn’t very long. A sleek black car pulls up to the front of the complex and stops in front of them. As he stares at it a wave of apprehension rolls down his spine. He hasn’t been in a car in years. Not even a taxi. Adrian gets in and looks at Trevor expectantly.

Now isn’t the time to get cold feet. It’s just a car, he tells himself as he tries the passenger door. It’s locked and he curses under his breath. He quietly sulks into the backseat, making sure to keep as much space between him and His Highness as much as possible.

They don’t speak during the drive, they just stare out of their respective windows as the traffic mulls by like a lazy river. L.A. traffic is famous for being horrible, and he can’t help but brood over the fact that they’re wasting time. They could have just slept in a little and gone for a jog around the block. No need to get in a car for that. Stupid rich bastard and his fancy scenic jogs.

Despite his feelings about the situation, the quiet hum of traffic and the soft, barely comprehensible whispers of the radio soon lull him into a dreamless sleep. It feels like no time has passed at all when he feels someone nudging his shoulder. His eyes shoot open to find the driver - a plain man dressed in a suit that looks much too hot for the weather - leaning into the car beside him. Trevor startles and instinctively raises a hand to slap the man away, but catches himself and tries to casually pass it off as a stretch. He yawns and the driver steps back and clears his throat, “Uh, we’re here, sir.”

Being called sir feels strange and foreign to him, but he rolls with it.

“Right…” he says, looking around at the unfamiliar scenery as he exits the car.

There are trees everywhere. Some are palm trees and some look leafy and windswept, gently leaning as if they longed to brush their branches against the ground. Adrian was right about one thing; the park is beautiful. Trevor can’t even remember the last time he went somewhere outside of the shady part of town he called home for the last several years.

Adrian is waiting by the trail, stretching with his eyes partially closed as his golden hair catches the sun. Watching the way his muscles move, he looks less like the spoiled, delicate pretty-boy Trevor assumed he was on their first meeting (and honestly, who could blame him?) and more like… Well. Someone who actually lifts a finger once in a while.

He catches himself staring and quickly ducks down to tighten his shoelaces. He’s had this pair for years. They’re comfortable, but the laces are constantly coming undone if he doesn’t regularly re-tie them.

Eventually he makes his way over to Adrian and stands there awkwardly as he waits for him to finish his stretches.

“Well,” Adrian finally says as he stands up fully and pops in his earbuds. “Shall we begin?”

Trevor nods and looks at the trail ahead of them, allowing himself to marvel at how serene it feels. The morning air is soft and fresh against his skin and he can hear birds chirping in the trees as they call out to one another. He ties his hoodie around his waist and feels a surge of confidence. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe this is exactly the kind of thing he needs.

The charm of the park wears thin as Trevor gets closer and closer to his limit. He’s not out of shape by any means, but Hell; he hasn’t done this much running since highschool. Beside him, Adrian is barely breaking a sweat as his ponytail swishes back and forth with his movements. He makes it look effortless and it only makes Trevor that much more determined to keep up, no matter how much his lungs are burning and his legs are aching.

He’ll be damned before he admits he needs a break, and he’s starting to get the feeling Adrian knows this and is pushing him on purpose. The smug bastard keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes, filling Trevor with a whole new sense of loathing fueled by lack of sleep and an empty stomach.

“Out of breath already, Belmont?” Adrian teases and flashes him a knowing smile, confirming Trevor’s suspicions.

“Fuck…. Fuck off.” he manages between breaths.

Adrian slows his pace and Trevor feels grateful. Just barely. Adrian pulls a water bottle out of his bag and takes a nice long drink while they stop.

“I haven’t...Had to run this much…. Since gym class… Fucking Mr. P…. Both of you can go fuck yourselves.”

Adrian snickers lightly at that and keeps drinking. Trevor watches with jealousy as a few droplets escape and slide down the side of his face. They reflect a few gleams of sunlight as they run down his neck, and Adrian catches him looking.

Trevor quickly looks away. It doesn’t matter how thirsty he is; he won’t ask this stuck up prick for anything. He’s Trevor Belmont, and he doesn’t need any favours from some spoilt Hollywood br-

“Here.” Adrian digs through his small knapsack and tosses Trevor a fresh bottle.

He catches it, surprised, and looks at Adrian as if it's some kind of prank. Adrian shrugs at him and puts his own water away. Trevor hesitantly takes a sip, and then quickly gulps it all down.

“Who’s looking after who, I wonder.” Adrian mutters to himself. Trevor lets it slide.

Sufficiently hydrated, Trevor tosses the empty bottle into a nearby bin. It’s plastic, unlike the reusable one Adrian has, and he wonders if perhaps he should buy one as well. He can certainly afford to now, but the question is whether or not he’s going to have to do this enough to warrant it.

“Do you do this every day?” he asks, dreading the response.

“More or less.” Adrian responds casually. Shit.

“Fucking masochist.” Trevor mutters.

Adrian chuckles and pulls out his phone. Something on it makes him smile and his eyes light up. He quickly types something and Trevor ignores him in favour of re-tying his shoelaces.

They break for a little while longer, and then set off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Armouredescort for helping me out with editing


	5. Pose

Chapter Song:

**Fever Dream - Mxmtoon**

As much as he hates to admit it, Adrian was right; a banana was nowhere near enough to keep his hunger at bay. There’s still a few hours until noon and he doesn’t know when he’ll get a chance to eat, and so he sulks as he stares out of the car window and tries to distract himself from his gurgling stomach. It doesn’t work. Palm trees and endless traffic can only be so interesting.

“We’ll stop back at the apartment to shower and change before the Givenchy shoot.” Adrian informs him, barely looking up from his phone as he idly scrolls. “Try to be ready in thirty minutes. I’d like to be there early.”

That catches Trevor’s attention. Stopping at the apartment means there’s an opportunity to raid the kitchen while His Highness takes a shower. Knowing this doesn’t make him feel any less hungry, but at the very least he feels relieved.

As soon as Adrian unlocks the door Trevor makes a beeline for the kitchen. He’s not sure what to make and at the moment he really couldn’t care less. Anything will do if it will rid him of the gnawing hunger ripping away at his stomach. Adrian watches him as he goes to the stairs and graciously - to Trevor’s relief - doesn’t comment on it. 

“Thirty minutes, Belmont!” he reminds him.

“Yeah, thirty minutes, got it,” Trevor grumbles as he pulls out some leftover chicken.

Satisfied, Adrian leaves for his shower.

“Alright, what else do we have in here…?” Trevor stares at the open fridge and ponders his options. 

By the time Adrian is done with his shower Trevor has made some pasta to go with his chicken and helped himself to a little more of Adrian’s wine. The drink seeps into his body, leaving him loose, content, and without a care in the world - his favourite feeling in the world. 

Mr. Tepes has never gone over the rules involving drinking on the job, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that getting caught wouldn’t be good. Oh well. After the drive and the lingering irritation he feels from spending the morning with Adrian, he’s willing to risk it. He only gets in trouble if he gets caught, after all - and what Adrian doesn’t know can’t hurt him. He carefully cleans and puts away his empty glass and innocently slumps back onto the couch before the starlet makes it downstairs. 

“I told you to be ready,” Adrian says wryly as he enters the living room to find Trevor wearing the exact same sweaty clothes he had left him in. “And yet here you are, unchanged and unwashed. It’s your first day on the job and already the level of unprofessionalism is astounding.”

Adrian looks clean, refreshed, and irritated. His hair is down and he’s dressed in a plain white v-neck and a pair of dark jeans that look just a little too tight in Trevor’s opinion.

“I can shower later,” Trevor mutters, sliding his gaze away, “Getting changed doesn’t take that much time. I can go and be down in two minutes.”

“That’s not my point,” Adrian crosses his arms and briefly looks Trevor up and down. He’s searching for something that he clearly doesn’t find, judging from the look of suspicion that blossoms on his handsome face. “Just who are you? What agency did you come from?”

“Agency?”

“Yes. I might like to have a word with them.”

Trevor’s confusion must be plain on his face because before he can even muster an answer, Adrian sighs and runs a hand through his golden hair and says, “You weren’t hired from an agency, were you?”

Trevor takes a moment to respond, too distracted by the way the strands of hair fall through Adrian’s fingers like silk. He has the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it just to see if it’s as soft as it looks, but Adrian clears his throat and Trevor’s mind snaps back to reality. He quickly looks away, embarrassed, and blames his minor lapse of focus on the wine.

“No,” he finally responds.

“Then how did you come to be in my father’s service?” Adrian presses, stepping forward.

“I got scouted,” Trevor scoots back further on the couch, staring up at Adrian’s angelic face as it looms over him.

“Scouted?” 

That seems to throw him off a bit. His brows furrow slightly and he stops moving closer.

“Underground fighting. Carmilla found me after a match and offered me the job.”

Adrian’s eyes widen. “Underground fighting?” he ponders for a moment, fingers brushing his chin thoughtfully, “I know she’s been saying I’m not taking the threat seriously enough, but this? You?” He gestures at Trevor, “What was she thinking…?”

Trevor tries not to be offended by that and shrugs. “She said she wanted someone with actual fighting experience.”

“I see.” Adrian looks skeptical, “That’s nice and all, but you clearly don’t know the first thing about being a bodyguard. The idea is to avoid conflict, not go running at it with your fists out.”

“I don’t plan on ‘running in with my fists out’.” Trevor does air quotations and narrows his eyes at Adrian.

“Then what do you plan on doing? If someone broke in right now and threatened to harm me, what would you do?”

That’s a good question. Honestly, if he isn’t supposed to use his fists he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Or even what he could do.

He remains silent, giving Adrian all the answers he needs. The blond sighs and steps away from the couch. “Go get changed. I’m going to call Carmilla. I’d like a word with her about all this.”

“Fine by me,” Trevor says, feigning indifference despite his growing apprehension. 

As irritating as Adrian is, this is the nicest gig he’s ever had. For the first time since he dropped out of high school he’s living in a clean apartment with access to good, healthy food. It’s only been a day, and sure, he could easily go back to how he lived before - aimless with no regard for his derelict lifestyle - but no. He doesn’t want to live that way anymore. Not with something so tangible and appealing right in front of him. 

He gets up from the couch, but goes no further as his thoughts flit back to a movie he saw years ago - he can’t remember what the damn thing was called, but he remembers the bodyguards in it all wore some kind of suit with a communicator attached to their ears. And sunglasses. All of them wore sunglasses. It looked badass at the time, but now Trevor is wondering if that’s how he has to dress now. Feeling like this is something he should already know, he hesitantly catches Adrian’s attention before he can fully leave the room, “Uh, one question. Before I change.”

“What is it?”

“What am I supposed to wear? Do I need to wear one of those suits?”

Adrian looks taken aback by the question. “Suits?”

Trevor waves his hands vaguely in front of him. “You know… the ones in movies? With the sunglasses and the little… the little…” he gestures at his ear as if that somehow makes it clearer. Adrian frowns.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Trevor groans. “Oh come on! You should know this. You do movie things-“

“Acting,” Adrian corrects.

“Whatever. My point is that you’ve seen movies and should know what I’m talking about.”

“Well I don’t.”

Trevor huffs and haphazardly throws his arms up in the air. “Alright then, what the fuck am I supposed to wear?!”

Adrian sighs and gives Trevor a look like he’s immensely regretting his agreement to tolerate him.

“Just wear something casual and clean,” he looks pointedly - or perhaps accusingly - at Trevor, “And try to look like you didn’t just crawl out of a dumpster.”

Trevor self consciously looks down at his clothes. Sweat marks from the jog aside, he doesn’t think he looks so bad. 

“What’s wrong with how I dress?” he demands.

He’s never given much thought to his appearance - and for the most part he doesn’t care - but something about Adrian’s words makes him feel like a cat that’s been brushed the wrong way.

Adrian sighs and walks away. “Just get changed.”

“Adrian! What’s wrong with my clothes?” he presses, but Adrian only casts him a languid stare as he drifts past the doorway and out of sight.

“Bastard,” Trevor mutters.

“Heard that.”

“Go to Hell.”

“Yes! Good! Beautiful! Alright now do that again but with the sunglasses on this time,” the photographer instructs as one of her assistants hands Adrian a pair of designer shades. He wastes no time putting them on and goes back to posing without missing a beat - literally. They’re playing music and Adrian is changing poses on each beat as the photographer snaps a million pictures. Occasionally another accessory is handed to him, or they pause so that one of the stylists can adjust something, and then he’s right back to posing.

Admittedly, this isn’t what Trevor expected a photoshoot to be like. He figured Adrian would just put on some fancy outfits, get told to pose a certain way, and then click-click boom done everyone can go home. 

But it’s not like that at all - well, except for the part about wearing fancy outfits. Adrian’s hair is neatly tucked into a loose braid that falls over his shoulders. He’s wearing a sheer grey coat that reflects pink whenever the light hits it a certain way over a black and white striped shirt. Before that he was wearing a colourful jacket with intricate golden patterns stitched along the sides, and Trevor can’t remember much else besides that. Fashion has never really been his thing, and he has more important things to do than watch pretty-boy strike poses for three miserable hours.

Carmilla emailed him some ‘homework’ before he arrived. Initially, he thought it was because of Adrian calling her, but looking at the files filled with instructions, aerial maps of areas Adrian frequents, and a few photographs of some of his more aggressive fans that Trevor will need to be on the lookout for, he’s starting to think that this has been in the works since before she even hired him. That or she just doesn’t sleep.

Looking over it all, it really hits Trevor that this isn’t just some babysitting job. Especially when he sees some of the files on his fans. Perhaps ‘fans’ isn’t the best word for what they are. Stalkers seemed more accurate. One of them - a man by the name of Desmond Miller - runs a fan club on the internet and has been caught multiple times digging through the trashcans at Adrian’s previous home. It looks like there’s now a restraining order against him, but Carmilla has made a note to be wary nonetheless. 

He looks up at Adrian as he’s rushed back to the dressing room for another outfit and hair change and almost feels sorry for him. 

He gets a ping from his notifications and opens it up to find that Carmilla has sent yet another file titled, ‘The Dos and Don’ts of Bodyguarding’. He’s more than certain now that she doesn’t sleep at all.

“Where to now?” Trevor asks as the photographer starts dismantling the set and people begin to clear out. 

Adrian looks up from his phone. “We’re meeting up with a friend of mine for lunch. It’s-”

“Adrian! Hold on!”

They both turn to see one of the photographer’s assistants come jogging up, her dark curls bouncing with each step. “Thank goodness I caught you. There’s a ton of paparazzi waiting outside for you.”

Adrian rolls his eyes. “Great. Just what I need.”

The assistant gives him a forced smile. “Sorry. We can escort you through the back if that helps?”

Adrian wanders over to the window to get a better look at the situation. Sure enough, there’s a small crowd of photographers blocking the way to the car. “My driver can’t go around to the back,” he says, resigned. “I’ll just have to text Sypha and tell her we’re going to be late.”

“Where exactly did you say we’re going after this?” Trevor asks.

“Bestia. It’s an Italian restaurant around Boyle Heights.” 

Trevor’s thrilled to hear they’re going to grab food, already hungry despite his earlier meal, but he tries to maintain a neutral face as he continues speaking. “I might have an idea.”

Adrian looks surprised but seems to be listening. 

“Alright. We leave out the back and hop on a bus. The eighteen should get us close enough and we can walk the rest of the way. If your driver stays here, the paparazzi will assume you haven’t left the building. By the time they realize you’re not here, we’ll be dining on spaghetti.”

Adrian is silent for a moment, looking nonplussed at Trevor’s suggestion. “That… could actually work,” he finally says

“It will work,” Trevor assures him, Tell your driver to pull up to the front like he’s ready for you to come out.”

Adrian makes the call and the two of them let the assistant guide them to the back door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this update took a while to post. You'd think quarantine would give me more time to write, but it's actually having the opposite effect. I'll try to get back to posting roughly every 2 weeks.
> 
> Thank you to all the people who have commented. Please continue to tell me what you think, it's always really motivating to see.
> 
> Stay safe!


	6. Sypha

Chapter Song:

**Josie - The Glorious Sons**

“Is this your first time on a bus?” Trevor asks. 

The Eighteen isn’t as crowded as he suspected it might be. There’s an elderly couple struggling to keep their grandkids seated, and everyone else for the most part is too busy looking at their phones or reading the newspaper to even notice their existence. It’s a huge relief. The whole time they waited at the stop, Trevor had been struggling to come up with a plan in case the bus was full of rabid fans ready to dig into Adrian. If that happened, then what? Carmilla’s guide had plenty of tips for getting Adrian out of buildings, but it didn’t say anything about public transport. 

Thankfully that wasn’t an issue. Still, Trevor insisted they sit at the back and made Adrian take the window seat. At least this way if some crazy fan did try to get at him, he could be a physical barrier between them.

It’s hot. Even with the windows partially open the entire bus reeks of sweat, and Trevor is painfully aware of how Adrian leans away from him. 

He tries to subtly smell himself and regrets not taking a shower earlier.

Despite the smell, and the heat, and the fact that this was a public bus instead of a luxurious private car, Adrian hasn't complained once. It’s surprising. He had expected Adrian to make a fuss about it, but the starlet looks surprisingly comfortable squished between Trevor and the window. Hell, he even looks happy.

Adrian seems almost amused by Trevor’s question. “No. Believe it or not, I used to take the bus all the time with my mother.”

“Huh. Big Hollywood superstar likes taking public transport. Never would have guessed.”

That earned him a scowl.

“I’m a human being like anyone else, you know,” Adrian says, “If you keep expecting me to act like some jaded snob you’re going to be disappointed.”

Trevor tries -and fails - to hide his disbelief in that statement.

Adrian sighs and folds his arms over his chest. “You’re no different from the rest of the public. Judging me without ever really knowing me.”

“Now who’s judging who?” Trevor raises a brow, “You do realize the first time we met you threw a tantrum because your daddy hired me to protect you. If you don’t like how I see you, you only have yourself to blame.”

“Yes,” Adrian says after a long pause, taking Trevor by surprise, “I suppose you’re right.”

They fall into an awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say after that.

The bus rumbles on and even though Adrian is looking out the window, Trevor can’t help but think that he’s not actually seeing what’s there. His brow is creased as if lost in thought, and just as Trevor pulls his gaze away he speaks up.

“She used to take me all over the city when she wasn’t busy working,” he says, a fond smile brightening his features. “We used to go see museums and play on the beach on Sundays. She wanted me to have a normal life,” he pauses and turns to meet Trevor’s gaze, “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a bus. It’s nice, in a way. Especially when it's not too busy.”

Trevor can’t help but ask, despite his inner voice telling him he shouldn’t give a shit and should just leave well enough alone, “Why don’t you take it anymore? Worried you’ll attract too much attention?”

“Well, yes. That’s one reason,” he responds, smile gone.

There's silence, and Trevor supposes he’s meant to say something, and scratches idly at his jaw, “You have other reasons?”

Adrian turns his face to the window, but Trevor can see the pain in his eyes through his reflection. “She died,” he says simply.

The sun catches Adrian’s honey-brown eyes, and for a moment they reflect gold. It would have struck Trevor as beautiful if not for the awkwardness of the situation. Instead, his mind is reeling for something to say. He’s never been good at talking about feelings, and this seemed to spring out of nowhere. 

“Was she an actor, too?” he finally responds, for lack of anything better to say.

“She was a doctor,” Adrian says, pride in his voice despite his sorrowful expression.

“I’m… sorry?” he responds, stupidly. Fucking hell, he’s way out of his depth here.

To his surprise, Adrian laughs. 

“What? What's wrong with you?” He couldn’t keep up with Adrian’s sudden and unexpected whirlwind of emotions.

“I’m sorry, it’s just- When it happened, it was all over the news. I’m so used to people just… knowing,” Adrian wipes at his face and Trevor realizes there were tears behind his laughter, “I just assume everyone I meet knows everything about me,” he pauses, “You know, sometimes I feel like my mother’s death just makes me more interesting to the public’s eye. Like I’m a character in a book or movie with a tragic backstory that they can moon over.”

“Yeah it’s like some people get off on celebrity gossip or something,” Trevor leans back in his seat and crosses his arms behind his head. “I never understood why. Having money and fame doesn’t make people better than the rest of us.” 

“I agree.”

They exchange a thoughtful look and eventually Trevor says, “You’re not like I thought you’d be.”

“And you’re not what I expected from a bodyguard.”

“Is that a good thing?” Trevor asks.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Adrian responds honestly.

They chuckle a little before a warm silence settles in. For a while Adrian watches the cars go by through the window, and Trevor stares at his hands as if they carry some unseen weight.

After a while he speaks up, compelled by something he can’t quite name, “I… know how it feels.”

“Hm?” Adrian turns around to face him again.

“To lose a mother,” Trevor reveals, hesitantly. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looks away.

“What happened to her?” Adrian gently asks.

”It’s complicated,” Trevor says quietly.

Adrian looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it was gets interrupted by a robotic voice announcing their stop. 

“This is it,” Trevor grunts as he gets up and stretches, glad for the interruption.

“After you,” he says as they queue to get off the bus. Behind them a woman softly gasps and pulls out her phone to snap a picture of Adrian. Trevor smoothly steps in between them and glares daggers at her as he nudges Adrian to get off faster.

A loud whistle pierces the air, catching the pair’s attention. Standing just outside the restaurant is a girl with short strawberry-blonde hair. She’s wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck with a pale blue jacket wrapped around her waist, and perched on her head is a pair of sunglasses that look a lot like Adrian’s but more pointy at the tips. 

“That’s your friend I take it,” Trevor says, thumbing in her direction as she jogs over to meet them. She stops in front of Adrian and puts her hands on her hips.

“You’re _late_ ,” she accuses, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“You’re lucky we made it at all. The paparazzi found out where the shoot was,” Adrian defends, “we had to take a bus and walk part of the way.”

“Alright… you’re forgiven. For now,” she says, and then fixes her attention on Trevor. “You must be the bodyguard! I’ve heard a lot about you, you know.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” Trevor responds dryly.

She gets close to him and… sniffs. He takes a quick step backwards and gives her a wary look.

“Oh!” She exclaims, “oh, you weren’t kidding. He stinks.”

Trevor colours and shoots a glare at Adrian.

“Yes, well somebody refused to take a shower when he was told,” Adrian throws Trevor a pointed look, his pretty eyes boring into him unpleasantly.

“Are we still going on about that?” He demands, exasperated.

“Considering I had to sit next to you on an overheated bus?” Adrian says, “yes.”

Sypha steps in between them and turns to Trevor, pulling his attention away from Adrian, “you’re… Belladon, yes?”

“Belmont,” Adrian corrects. 

Trevor rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Name’s Trevor, actually. Belmont’s more of a family name.”

“I’m Sypha,” she introduces herself, “Sypha Belnades.”

“Trevor. Trevor Belmont.”

“I know,” she giggles, “You’ve already introduced yourself.”

“Right…” Trevor says, feeling stupid.

“You know, you don’t look like how I thought a bodyguard would look,” she mentions as she tugs on Adrian’s arm and starts them walking towards the restaurant.

“What do you mean?” Trevor asks.

“Well,” she says, holding a finger to her chin in contemplation and casting her wide, blue eyes skyward, “I thought you’d be wearing a suit and sunglasses. It’s a bit silly now that I think of it - especially in this heat - but it’s what I’ve always seen in the movies.”

Trevor stares at Adrian and gestures aggressively at Sypha. “You see?! It’s not just me.”

“She's hardly a good judge of what’s normal,” Adrian smiles ever so slightly and leans over as if sharing a secret, “she’s crazy, you know.”

Sypha casts Adrian an indignant look and sticks her finger in the air. “ _I_ beg to differ. I know many things,” she says, matter-of-factly, “All of them, in fact. Including what’s normal or not.”

“Oh yes. Of course,” Adrian humours her, “all the things.”

“See?” She says to Trevor, as if Adrian’s sarcastic agreement was all the proof she needed.

“I… see,” he says, unsure of what to make of their new companion.

Sypha and Adrian continue to banter and chat with Trevor quietly taking up the rear as they head up to the front of the restaurant, which upon further inspection looks almost like an old warehouse.

It’s not the type of place he imagines Adrian would be attracted to, but then again he supposes the starlet would want to avoid the more glamorous food hot-spots of L.A.

“Shall we go in?” Adrian asks, “We’ve kept you waiting long enough.”

“Yes! I’m so hungry I could eat…” she pauses and then shrugs, “I could just eat. A lot. Let’s go.”

Trevor starts to follow them in, but Adrian stops him, “We’ll be about an hour, maybe two at the most. You can go off and do whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

“Wait, you don’t want me coming in with you?” Trevor asks.

“If it were up to me Belmont, you wouldn’t be going with me anywhere at all,” he replies.

“I can’t just leave you. Your daddy will have my head if something happened to you on my watch.”

“If I choke on a noodle I’m sure Sypha will save me,” he straightens up and tries to give Trevor a commanding look, “your services are not needed here. I’m giving you a break.”

“Yeah? Well tough shit,” Trevor responds, pushing his way past Adrian, “I’m not putting my neck on the line just so you can get some alone time with your girlfriend.”

Adrian sighs and Sypha colours.

“You misunderstand me, Belmont. I don’t want alone time with her. I want a break from you. Is that so much to ask for? Do you really think me so helpless that I can’t handle myself for an hour in a public restaurant?”

“This isn’t about you,” he says, “personally, I’d like to not get fired on my first day. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

“It was worth a try,” Adrian relents and turns to enter with the two of them.

As soon as he steps inside he stops and stares at the interior. It’s much nicer than the outside, to say the least. It’s got a bit of a rustic charm going on, with different types of bricks accenting parts of the walls and cozy looking booths overlooking an open kitchen and bar area. Above are hanging lights that give the room a modern touch, and overall it’s… really not that bad looking. In fact, it’s pretty crowded. There’s a long line of people waiting to be seated. 

“Great. We’ll be eating in an hour,” Trevor mutters. “We should see what else is open in the area.”

“No need,” Sypha says as a waiter spots them amidst the crowd and rushes over to them.

He stops in front of them and smiles brightly.

“Ah, Mr. Tepes! Miss Belnades! So nice to see you again. Your seat is ready for you,” and he leads them to a table. He notices Trevor following and goes to get an extra chair for him.

“I guess celebrities don’t need to wait around in lines like us ‘normal people’,” Trevor says bitterly as he waits. When the waiter returns with his chair, he grabs it from him and takes a seat without a word of thanks. Sypha glares at him and then turns to smile at the waiter.

“Thank you,” she says as he leaves, and then returns to glaring at Trevor, which he ignores.

“It’s called a Reservation, Belmont. You reserve a seat ahead of time in order to skip the line,” Adrian explains drolly.

“Erm. Right. I knew that.” Trevor lies.

They spend some time looking over the menu and chatting, and as soon as they put their menus down, the waiter reappears for their orders. 

“Anything else?” He asks, notepad at the ready.

“I’d like a glass of Sauvignon Blanc if you have it,” Adrian says.

“Bring the whole bottle.” Trevor adds. He gets a nod from the waiter and matching stares from his companions. “What?” 

“A whole bottle between the three of us seems a bit excessive.” Adrian points out.

“You mean between the two of you. I drove here.” Sypha says.

Trevor shrugs. “I need a good drink after putting up with you all day.” He says to Adrian.

“Funny. I thought you were worried about being fired on your first day. And yet here you are, drinking on the job.”

“A little wine won’t hurt.”

“This is more than ‘a little’.” 

“Will you two stop arguing for five minutes?” Sypha sighs, “I don’t want to listen to this the whole time we’re here.”

“Yeah, I’d like his Highness here to get off my ass, too.”

Adrian frowns but relents. “Fine. It’s no use arguing with him anyway. He’s thicker than a brick wall.”

“Piss off,” Trevor says, shoving a breadstick in his mouth.

“Oh I’d love to, but you’d just follow me.” Adrian fires back.

“You two are unbelievable,” Sypha sighs as she grabs a breadstick for herself, “you argue like children.”

“He started it-“ Trevor starts.

“No! Shh!” Sypha waves the breadstick menacingly at Trevor, “no more arguing. Only food and pleasant conversation.”

They all fall silent at that. The clink of glasses and the sound of people laughing and chatting becomes more noticeable without them talking. Or, more accurately, arguing. 

Trevor looks between Sypha and Adrian and regrets not taking Adrian’s offer for a break. He feels like a third wheel; an unwanted chaperone crashing their lunch date. Then again, he didn’t even know if the two were dating or just friends. 

He ponders that for a while. Their food arrives and they all dig in. Shortly after they start eating, Trevor speaks up.

“So,” he says around a mouthful of pizza, “you two are-“

“Co-stars? Yes,” Sypha interjects.

“Alright…” Trevor says, suspicious of her hasty interruption. 

“We were friends before that, too,” Adrian says as he twirls his noodles on a fork, “we met in middle school.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t home schooled,” Trevor muses.

“I mentioned on the bus that my mother wanted me to have a normal life,” Adrian points out, “and that included my schooling.”

Sypha speaks up, “I was actually homeschooled for a while. I had to fight to be able to go to a public school. I learned a lot at home but,” she pauses, “I wanted to know what the world was like outside of my family. It was scary at first, being the new kid and not knowing anyone. But then Adrian volunteered to show me around and teach me how the school worked. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Huh,” Trevor says, “and you both went into acting?”

“No, actually.” She says, surprising Trevor. “I’m going to be a lawyer. I’m just acting to help save up for university. Honestly, I never would have tried it if it wasn’t for Adrian.”

“You should have seen her before my dad hired her a coach. She was terrible.”

“And look at me now! On the big screen!” She shouts, earning her a few looks from the neighbouring tables, “anyway, if it wasn’t for Mr. Tepes I wouldn’t have gotten a toe in this industry. He is single handedly funding my education.”

Trevor focuses on chewing over coming up with a response.

“What about you? How did you get into body guarding?” She asks after a moment.

Trevor stares at his pizza and swallows. “Carmilla scouted me.”

“Oh that’s interesting. I always thought people hired bodyguards from agencies.”

“They do,” Adrian says, “Belmont here is what we’d call a special case.”

“You could say that,” Trevor adds. “It’s a lot better than my old gig. Punching people for a living.”

Sypha’s eyes light up. “Really?” she asks excitedly. Not waiting for an answer she adds, “How does it feel to knock someone out? Have you ever done that?”

Trevor stares at her and laughs. “Oh, it feels good. Real good.”

“You have to teach me how to do that later. Promise?”

He chuckles, oddly endeared by her enthusiasm. “Sure. Why not.”

“Good! I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway.”

They eat and chat and Trevor downs most of the wine. He doesn’t do it all at once, though. Over the course of their meal he slowly adds more to his glass, thinking he’s being inconspicuous until Sypha pointedly takes the bottle and moves it as far away from Trevor as she can. She doesn’t say anything, and Trevor goes back to shovelling pizza in his face, occasionally casting longing glances at the bottle. 

By the end of the meal he understands why Adrian calls her crazy. She’s been going back and forth on tangents about lawyer stuff, to talking about Daredevil and his methods, and then finally they end up back on fighting and self defense.

“-and third of all, if I know how to fight I won’t need a stunt double. So paying for my lessons would actually be saving your dad money.”

“My father doesn’t pay for your stunt double. That’s up to the people working on the movie.”

“Oh.” she says, “Well I think they’ll say yes. I’m very convincing.”

“Very.”

She yawns and stretches, belly full of delicious noodles and breadsticks. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“My handler wants to do a phone conference with me.” Adrian sighs, leaning on the table and resting his head in his hand. 

“Didn’t you have one yesterday?” She asks. 

“And the day before that. I’m starting to think Hector just likes the sound of my voice.”

“Hm, I don’t blame him” Sypha teases.

“What about you? What’s your afternoon look like?” Adrian asks her.

“Doing readings.”

“Fun.” Trevor says. 

“You have no idea.” She responds. 

They pay the bill and part ways. Sypha drives off in her convertible, and Trevor and Adrian sit on a bench as they wait for his driver to pick them up.

“She seems… interesting,” Trevor says once she’s out of view.

“I think you mean crazy,” Adrian says, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” Trevor chuckles, “Just a little.”

It isn’t long before the car pulls up and the two get in. Adrian gives the driver instructions and Trevor catches himself staring at him as his mind replays the events of the afternoon. Being around the two of them, bickering and joking and talking and eating, has left him with a light feeling that isn’t just because of the sweet wine lying in his stomach. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time, and the realization of that shocks him. 

For the first time in years he feels happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took a while. Sorry about that. You'd think 'Rona would have given me more time to write, but honestly its been rough -as its been for all of us-. I'm not sure how often I'll be updating as long as this is going on, but I promise I'm not dropping this fic. I didn't spend too much time editing this chapter so if you notice any mistakes let me know. I was in a rush to post it because its been so long.
> 
> If you have questions or just want to check up on chapter progress you can send me an ask on tumblr (ethereal-mists.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you for all the comments! You guys help keep me motivated and I appreciate it.


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